


Mistletoe

by FantasiaWandering



Series: Under Shield [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Big Brother Sans, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasiaWandering/pseuds/FantasiaWandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The monster world and the human world hold similar celebrations around the turning of the year, and the fusion of the celebrations in your adoptive family should be a time of nothing but joy. Yet dark dreams still give you sleepless nights, and it falls to one particular family member to help you set it right with a very special gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays to everyone who has given me support and encouragement. Thank you for taking this wild ride with me.

When you wake, there’s nothing but quiet around you. More so than usual, in fact. You sit up, clutching your bedspread to your chest. Outside the window, moonlight picks out the white flakes drifting slowly past in the dark. You loosen your grip on the bedspread, smoothing out the fabric until the happy little snails bedecked with holly are unwrinkled once more, and carefully slip out from under the covers. 

You sink your feet into the soft warmth of your white fuzzy dog slippers before making your way toward the bedroom door. It’s chilly in the house, but your fleecy skeleton pyjamas keep you comfortably warm as you pad down the hall toward the stairs. In addition to the usual smells of butterscotch and cinnamon, the garlands festooning the walls reach out to wreathe you in the scents of pine, and apples, and oranges. It’s a homey, comforting smell, and you breathe deep as you tiptoe halfway down the stairs. Sinking down, you peer between the rails as the boughs of the garland wrapping the banister tangle with your curls.

From here, you can see the tree. It never fails to make you catch your breath from the sheer size of it, and the work that the family has done on it is truly spectacular. Shimmering lights pick out nearly every branch, gleaming like stars against the dark needles. The lights glimmer and dance across the surfaces of the ornaments hanging like jewels from the branches. Some of them are immeasurably old. Others are gifts sent to you from friends and well-wishers you’ve worked with at the Embassy. Still others, the ones given place of pride on the tree, are ones that you and your family have made for it over the last four years. From the lumpy little stocking that Undyne knitted, to the origami reindeers Papyrus folded; from the little clockwork birds with flapping wings that Alphys designed, to the little ceramic tea set you made with Asgore, every one has a story that fills you with warmth as you cast your eyes over them. 

There’s a sound from beyond the tree, and you hold your breath as a huge shadow moves through the darkness in the room beyond. Then, the shadow steps into the light, resolving into a towering bearded figure dressed in red. In his big, clawed hands, he gently cradles a tiny jewelled snail ornament. He peers at it in great concentration as he reattaches a hook to the top of the shell, and he sets it gently back in place on the tree. “There you go,” he whispers, the depth of his voice reverberating through the stairs. “Good as new.” Smiling, he kneels next to the sack at his feet and begins to rummage through it. One of his horns brushes against Sans’ little glass ketchup bottle and sets it dancing between the lights.

“HE FOUND US! HE CAME!” 

You jump, just a little, as the emphatic whisper drifts through the dark at the top of the stairs. Papyrus, dressed in his “I’m on the nice list” pyjamas, scampers down the stairs and thumps down behind you as quietly as he can manage, wrapping his arms around you as he peers over your shoulder. Letting yourself sink back against him -- skeletons always give the best hugs, even when they’re distracted -- you’re suddenly very glad that your friends decided to stay in their rooms at your house tonight. It’s still very quiet outside of Papyrus’ bubble of glee, but it helps to know that the silence is filled with sleeping friends.

“And one for Papyrus,” Santa murmurs as he places another gift under the tree.

Papyrus squeaks quietly into your ear. “I WAS WORRIED HE WOULD LEAVE THE GIFTS AT OUR HOUSE IF WE STAYED HERE, BUT SANS WAS RIGHT!”

“ **‘course i’m right,** ” a sleepy voice answers from the landing above. Sans wanders into the light filtering up from downstairs, his voice hushed as he rubs wearily at his left eye. “ **what about?** ”

“SHHH!” Papyrus admonishes, and turns his attention back to the tree. “SANTA FOUND US.”

“ **sure he did. i said so, didn’t i?** ” Sans plops down next to both of you and slumps heavily against his brother. Beneath his grey hoodie, you can just make out the words on his “naughty list” PJs, and they make you smile as they always do. “ **hey kiddo.** ” He gives your messy curls an affectionate tousle. “ **you should be sleeping.** ”

You shrug, and point at Santa with a sheepish grin. With a quiet snort, Sans shakes his head, but lets the matter drop. 

“Nggh. Whas happening?”

Papyrus urgently shushes Undyne as she stumbles down the steps, her hair in a wild red tangle. At least she’s wearing yoga pants and a sports bra this time. Sometimes she forgets about pyjamas. She lands against Papyrus’ other side and wraps a companionable arm around his shoulders, craning her neck to see what’s going on. She frowns at the bag. “That doesn’t look like there’s a CrossFit 5000 in there.”

“Didn’t that get recalled ‘cause the recoil was throwing humans across the room?” Alphys makes her way down the steps, her tail thumping softly on each one, until she can curl up in front of Undyne. The rhinestones that spell out the words “magical girl” on her pyjama top and dust the little frilly skirt that decorates the hem of the pants sparkle in the soft light.

Undyne just snorts as she wraps her free arm around Alphys. “Wusses. ‘Sides, if Santa can deliver presents to everyone in one night, he can darn well make a CrossFit 5000 that won’t get my gym shut down.”

“WILL YOU ALL PLEASE BE QUIET?” Papyrus whispers urgently.

“Oh! S-sorry!” Alphys snatches back her tail from where it’s slipped between the rails. 

“Oh, relax.” Undyne hugs Alphys tighter and kisses her frill. “Look, he’s humming. He can’t hear us.”

“DO YOU REALLY WANT TO RISK IT?” 

Undyne ponders that. “Uh…. not really, no.”

The others fall quiet around you, the little knot of you drawing closer together in solidarity, but it’s a comforting, full kind of silence. As you watch Santa work, you pick up a sparkly silver flower that’s come loose from the garland around the banister and place it over Alphys’ ear, secure behind the arm of her glasses. She blinks at you and blushes, grinning as Undyne beams her approval.

Suddenly, Papyrus gasps. “OH, NO,” he breathes. “HE’S BEEN SEEN!”

Instantly, your attention is riveted back on Santa. He stands on one side of the tree, frozen, as Mom watches him from the other side, her hands wrapped around the mug you gave her last Annual Winter Celebration of Putting Presents Under A Tree-slash-Christmas. In a moment, the startled expression on her face softens, the hint of a smile touching her mouth. “Greetings, Santa. I would chide you for coming in uninvited, but I suppose the tree does count as an invitation.”

A tentative grin crosses Santa’s face in answer. “Lots of disappointed little ones if I left this house off my list.”

“Indeed,” Toriel says with a soft laugh. “Some of them have even endeavoured to be good this year.”

“They do try very hard, don’t they?”

“They are certainly  _ trying _ ,” Toriel answers, and they both snicker.

An odd sort of hush descends, as though the whole house is holding its breath. Toriel looks down at the steaming mug in her hands. “Strange, is it not? How an act of kindness to soothe the feelings of a distraught Gyftrot could grow into something so….”

“...important?” Santa offers.

“Yes.” Toriel smiles. “At least it integrates well into the other human celebrations at this time.”

“The humans seem to enjoy our celebration, too. I asked the Gryftrot if it wanted to help pull the sled this year, but it’s making a great name for itself as a Christmas display downtown.” Santa gives her a wistful grin. “I think it likes the attention it gets from the kids. They all adore it.”

“Hmm. You would know nothing of that, would you?” Toriel asks, her voice teasing. “For surely, bringing scores of gifts to the young ones does nothing to endear you to them.”

“WHAT IS SHE TALKING ABOUT? I LOVE SANTA!” Papyrus whispers indignantly, answered by shushing from the lot of you clustered on the stairs.

Santa’s laughter hides the exchange. As it fades, he looks hesitant as he reaches into the nearly-empty sack and pulls out a small box wrapped in bright ribbons. He holds it uncertainly, fidgeting with it as he watches your mother, his head slightly bowed. “Not just the youngsters. If… if you think it appropriate.”

Toriel’s eyes widen at the box. “Oh. I… I didn’t…”

“You didn’t have to,” he says softly. “No obligations. No expectations. I just thought you might like it.”

Hesitantly, she reaches for the present. He takes her mug, passing the gift to her in exchange. Patiently, he waits, watching as she delicately picks apart the bow (eminently practical, you know your mother will save the ribbon for use later) and opens the box.

She says nothing, but her eyes gleam suspiciously as she raises her gaze to him after a long, long moment.

“It is very cold outside,” she says.

Santa looks uncertain as he nods. “The snow’s pretty deep now.”

“It’s  _ snow _ picnic,” she agrees, and Santa’s snort of laughter covers an echoing one from Sans. Holding the box close against her heart, Toriel tilts her head at him. “You have many houses to visit, I am sure. But perhaps, before you go… you might like some cocoa and a slice of pie to keep you warm?”

For an instant, Santa looks at her like she’s just thrown a fireball at him. Then, his own eyes are gleaming to match hers as he smiles. “I would like that very much.” He takes a step toward her, but she doesn’t move, and they are very close as he says, “Happy holidays, Tori.”

“And to you… Santa.” 

She raises her head, and for the barest, fleetingest of moments, their noses brush. Then, she turns, and leads him toward the kitchen.

“...HOW SCANDALOUS!” Papyrus exclaims when they’ve gone. “HOW FORTUNATE ASGORE IS NOT HERE!”

“ **yeah, that’d really get his goat** ,” Sans agrees, smirking as Papyrus groans.

A long, high pitched sound next to you attracts your attention, and you turn your head to see Alphys with her hands clasped beneath her chin, her eyes wide and shining. “Ohhhh,” she breathes, and pushes herself to her feet. “S-scuse me, guys. I have to go write some fanfic. Like, right now.” Her frilly skirt bounces as she takes the stairs at a run.

“Oh no. Not without me.” Undyne takes all of the stairs in one leap, and her voice drifts back to you as she heads toward the room she shares with Alphys. “YOU NEVER GET THE MUSHY BITS RIGHT WITHOUT MY HELP.”

Papyrus sighs as he watches her go, and hugs you tightly. “COME, HUMAN. WE HAVE ALREADY COME DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO DOING SOMETHING NAUGHTY. LET US RETURN TO BED BEFORE SANTA CATCHES US.”

“ **you go, papyrus** .” Sans places an arm around you. “ **i’ll take the kid.** ”

“VERY WELL.” Papyrus draws Sans into his hug, resting his head against yours. “SLEEP WELL, HUMAN.”

“G’night, big bro.” Turning until you can hug him back, you kiss his cheekbone, and he blushes, squeezing you harder before he lets go. Colder now without his arms around you, you shift closer to Sans as the two of you watch him leave. 

Only then does Sans turn to you, his shadowed eyes gazing deep into yours. “ **so. how bad is it?** ” You bite your lip, tears beginning to well in your eyes. Sans rests a reassuring hand on your head. “ **got it. wait here a sec.** ”

He gets to his feet and wanders back down the hall, returning shortly afterward with his puffy blue winter coat dragging down the hall behind him. In spite of your mood, you smile as he dumps it on top of you, and you shrug your way into the sleeves. You’re a lot bigger now than you were four years ago, but no matter how much you grow, you’re always swimming in his coat. He knows how happy it makes you when he lets you wear it, and its warmth wraps you like a hug.

“ **ready?** ” he asks.

You nod and fall into his open arms, burying your head against his shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel that familiar wrenching deep inside of you, and the cold darkness of Sans’ shortcut slithers across your skin.

 


	2. Midnight

 

Icy air swirls around you, but you’re snug in Sans’ coat as you swing your feet, looking out over the snow-covered hills. You’re still not really sure where this is, just that it’s one of his favourite star-watching spots. Though you’re on a branch fairly high in the tree at the crest of the hill, there’s no sign of city lights anywhere. Just the vast, unbroken drifts of snow stretching out below you, and Sans’s telescope on the ground just below the tree.

“ **okay, buddy. talk to me. nightmares again?** ”

You nod, lacing your fingers together. “Bad ones.” Tears of frustration drip down your face, turning to frost on your chilled skin. Solemnly, Sans wipes them away, his fingers inexplicably warm as he does so. “I hate this. I’m happy. I’m  _ happy _ . Why do I keep having these dreams?”

“ **oh, kiddo. i know exactly how you feel** .” He puts his arm around you, and you rest your head against his shoulder.

“You know what’s happening to me. Don’t you?”

He’s quiet for a long time, but you give him the time he needs to think about it. It’s an important question, and heavier than the ones you usually ask. “ **yes and no,** ” he answers finally. “ **i don’t know much more than you, weird as that sounds.** ”

“But you know  _ something _ ,” you insist.

He sighs.  **“okay, pal. you and me… we both know you can mess with stuff. try things again when they don’t go your way, right?** ”

You nod, your cheeks burning despite the chill. “I’m the legendary fartmaster,” you whisper, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation.

Sans snickers. “ **right. so… ugh. how do i explain this? imagine… imagine an otherwhen. an other you that’s you, but isn’t.** ” Your brow furrows, but despite the confusing tangle of words, it somehow make sense. The fact that it makes sense worries you more than a little. “ **so this otheryou,** ” he continues. “ **they make different choices than you. choices that you-you wouldn’t make, even though you started in the same place.** ”

You hold Sans’ coat more tightly around you. You were warm a minute ago, but his words send a chill through you that the coat can’t touch. “They’re not very nice.”

“ **exactly,** ” he says. “ **so those choices… they make more otherwhens. each choice splits them, like the branches of this tree. so even though we’re here, on this branch, we’re still in the tree, and you and me… sometimes we can see the other branches, like echoes across the spaces between the otherwhens.** ”

Your breath catches, and you stare down at your hands. A memory struggles through your mind, a bubble through an oily sludge, and you see hands, yours but not, stained with red. “I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see those awful things. I don’t want to… I would never… I…”

“ **hey, hey, easy kiddo. take it easy. you’re here now. that’s a different branch. nowhere near us** .”

You cling to him as he holds you, his hand gently stroking your hair. In spite of his words, and the kindness of his touch, there’s the shadow of doubt in his voice. Of course there is. He knows you can go back and change things. How can he be sure that you won’t go back and take that other fork in the tree? How can he be sure that you haven’t already done it? How can  _ you _ be sure that the awful things you see in your dreams are echoes, and not memories? You can’t, really. Even the little jumps, like the legendary fartmaster, make what came before seem fuzzy and out of focus. The other one, the bigger one… it’s like the shadow of a dream. How can you be sure? How can you ever be sure….

You can’t tell him about the big jump. You can’t. Even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to tell him what came before. You don’t remember enough. He’ll hate you. And you can’t stand the thought of him looking at you with fear in the shadows of his eyes.

“ **hey. hey frisk. you know that snowman that lives in the park? where does he keep his money?** ”

You sniffle against his shoulder. “I dunno.”

“ **in a snow bank.** ” It surprises a tiny laugh out of you, and Sans presses on. “ **someone found it once, and the snowman had a meltdown. now he just gives everyone the cold shoulder.** ”

You can’t help it. You’re still crying, but you laugh through the tears. “He’s always been a little flaky.”

“ **heh. there you are.** ” He holds you tighter. “ **please don’t cry, pal. you’re not alone. you’ll be okay.** ”

“You mean snowkay,” you murmur against him.

“ **right. what was I thinking?** ”

It still hurts, but the raw edges in your heart have been worn down by the laughter. Drawing a shaky sigh, you hold tight, your fingers knotting in his hoodie. “I don’t understand,” you whisper.

“ **oh, see, sometimes words have more than one meaning, so when you put them together in a juxtaposition, it’s a joke called a--** ”

“No,” you say, though he’s tripped the urge to laugh again. “I don’t understand why you’re so nice to me.”

“ **...frisk--** ”

“You’ve seen the otherwhens.”

He sighs heavily, loosening his hold on you. Feeling a little sick, you ease back, but he doesn’t let you go far. Instead, he takes your hands. “ **do me a favour, kid. look out there, and tell me what you see.** ”

You turn your head, gazing out across the frozen expanse. Above it all, the sky gleams, shining like someone’s cast a net of diamonds out across the sky. It goes on forever, and without the city lights to drown them out, the stars proliferate, a million tiny points illuminating the darkness.

“Stars,” you say.

“ **i know those other branches scare you,”** he says.  **“they scare me, too. but kid, right here, on this branch, i don’t see ‘em. the stars shine too bright** . **you gave me those stars, frisk** .”

You look down at his telescope, and your eyes sting with understanding. “Oh.”

“ **yeah. you made me a guy who cares about stuff again. that’s kind of a big deal. being nice is the least I can do** .” His fingers, warm around your cold ones, tighten just a little. “ **i less-than-three you a lot, kiddo.** ”

Your throat tightens, but despite the ache in your heart and the rawness in your eyes, you smile at him. “I love you, too.”

He winks, and turns his head. “ **look. the stars are coming to say hi** .”

You follow his gaze, and your breath catches. He’s right. The stars are falling, streaking across the sky. There are hundreds of them, falling like a rain of silver around you. Sans’ constant grin is brighter than usual, and you realize that he knew this was coming. He brought you here to show you this.

“ **make a wish, buddy.** ”

You can’t think in the face of this. You’ve never seen anything like it. Staring at the shooting stars above you, there’s only one thing you can think of. “I wish everyone could be happy.”

Sans laughs in surprise, but there’s nothing cruel or mocking about it. Just startled delight, and he reaches up to ruffle your hair. “ **if they’ve got you, kid, they already are.** ”

You smile at that, and it almost manages to chase away the chill. He’s right. You  _ know _ that everyone is happier now than when you found them Underground, and if everyone is happy, maybe it’s enough to help you deal with an awful dream every so often.

“ **hey, kid? what if i could make you forget?** ”

His words drop like stones into the serene tranquility of the star-dusted hilltop. Slowly, you turn to face him, your eyes wide. “How?”

“ **it’s hard to explain,** ” he says, scratching his head. “ **okay, so the others -- most of the others -- they don’t get what you and i get ‘cause they’re in the middle of everything. like they’re inside the branch. but you and me, for whatever reasons, we’re standing on the edges so we can see all the other stuff that’s out there. but i think i can… push you a little. send you closer to the middle. it won’t fix the nightmares, ‘cause you’ve been through more crap than any kid should have to deal with, and you may still remember stuff from the otherwhens once in a while, but it’ll seem more like a half-remembered dream and less like… like…** ”

“...like a memory,” you finish.

He nods. “ **they’ll make you sad, and maybe scared, but they won’t break you down like they’re doing now.** ” He sighs. “ **i don’t think it’ll last forever. you’re like me; you drift too much, even when you don’t mean to. but it’ll give you time.** ”

“But,” you frown, thinking about it. It seems too good to be true, and you realize what you’re missing. “I won’t remember this either, will I?”

“ **nope.** ”

“Then… if you push me back with the others, that’ll leave you all alone on the edge.” You straighten in horror, shaking your head in fierce denial. “No. I can’t leave you all alone.”

**“frisk. kiddo. you’re twelve. you don’t need to deal with this now.** ” He winks again, but you’re not buying it. “ **trust me, i’ve been dealing with this stuff a long time now. i’m a big skeleton. i’ll be fine.** ”

“You’ll be  _ alone _ ,” you insist. You’ve been alone. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone in the world, especially not your best biggest brother. It’s the worst feeling in the world, and you’d rather die than face it again. How could you let it happen to Sans?

Sans just smiles. “ **nah. i’ll still have you, and papyrus, and tori, and everyone else. but you’ll be able to build yourself a shield, growing up with the folks who love you, so  when you drift again, you’ll be strong enough to deal with all the dark stuff that comes across the void.** ”

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” you insist.

“ **you won’t. just give me hugs when i need ‘em, and i’ll be just fine.** ”

You feel like you’re about to cry again. It’d be selfish to say yes, but the thought of being able to sleep, and not be afraid to dream... Of being able to have a nightmare and forget about it instead of having it haunt you while you’re awake... You’d be leaving Sans alone -- but if you do what he says, when you make it back to the edge, you’ll be able to protect him just like he watches out for you.

Your breath catches, but you give him the best smile you can manage. “You can have all the hugs. Whenever you want. I promise.”

“ **now that’s a promise i can embrace,** ” he says, and it makes you laugh, as he meant it to.

You hold tightly to him as the laughter fades and doubt creeps back in. “Will it hurt?”

“ **yeah** ,” he admits, his hands strong on yours. “ **it’ll hurt like hell. but only for a while, and then you’ll forget. and i’ll be with you the whole time. but it’s up to you, kiddo. whatever you want to do, i’m with you.** ”

You bow your head, and when he reaches for you, you fall against him and hold on tight. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. But I want to forget. I want to forget.” You tremble miserably as the stars tumble down from the sky. “I’m sorry, Sans.”

“ **hey, it’s okay. you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. i promise. just take a deep breath, and everything’s gonna be fine.** ” He eases back, and picks up your hands again. “ **just look at me, and take a deep breath. that’s it. easy breaths. now, just one more question.** ”

He blinks, and the light vanishes from his eyes. They’re endless pools of black, and you’re falling into them, but you’re not afraid. His hands are fast around yours, holding tight. He could have hurt you any number of ways if he wanted to since the first moment you met, but you’re as at home with him in the branches of a tree as you were in the belly of the Earth, and though you know there is plenty to be afraid of, you’re not afraid of him. You stare into his eyes, until all you can see is the dark of their depths and the brilliant white moon of his grin.

“D o   y o u   t r u s t   m e ?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and the darkness swallows you whole.

A thousand possibilities slam into you all at once, and you scream as your mind shatters beneath the weight of them. Memories flash past in an endless stream, too fast to make out any details; the pain is so bad that you can’t see, can’t hear, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but weep from the agony. Your mind is fire, and ice, and a thousand sharp edges, and you can’t bear it any more. It builds, and builds, the infinite voices of infinite realities screaming directly into your brain, and they strip away your defenses until they’ve bared you to the bone. There’s nothing left in you to cry out. Nothing left to do but die. 

Then, as the crescendo of torment reaches its peak, something snaps, and you tumble into the dark. And as you do, strong arms catch you, holding you close, gentle hands stroking your hair as the diamond sky falls down around you.

“ **you did it. it’s over, kid. i got you. i got you…** ”   
  



	3. Christmas Morning

 

For a long time, you drift on the edge of sleep. You think it’s morning -- you can see the light dancing behind your closed eyes -- but you’re reluctant to cross the final steps into waking. It takes a moment or two for you to realize that this is the first time in a while that you’ve been able to drift into waking, rather than being thrown there by… by something. Bad dreams, you guess. But there’s nothing bad now. You’re surrounded by warmth, and the smell of cinnamon and butterscotch and pine, and a gentle hand moves slowly over your hair. 

Your eyes crack open, and for a moment, you could swear that you're surrounded by a glittering fall of stars. Then, as you blink the sleep from your eyes, it resolves itself into the shining lights of the tree. You’re lying on a pile of cushions in front of it, covered by the puffy warmth of Sans’s winter jacket. The pillow beneath your head cushions you from the knobby knees you know are attached to the familiar feet you can see sticking out beneath the pillow. 

You shift, turning so that you can look up, and Sans’s grin is so earnest as he beams down at you that you can’t help but smile in return, even though you’re still very sleepy.

“Is it morning?” you ask.

“ **just about,** ” he says, still petting your hair. “ **everyone should be up soon. how’re you feeling, kiddo?** ”

You think about that for a minute. For some reason, you feel like there’s an answer hovering just out of your reach, but when you grasp for it, it vanishes. “Really good,” you say, surprised by how true it is. Sleeping on the floor in front of the tree should have been uncomfortable, but all you can feel is warm and safe and more relaxed than you have in a long time. “Did I fall asleep?”

“ **yup. too much excitement. ‘s’okay though. i’m a good pillow.** ”

Excitement? But what-- You gasp, sitting up suddenly. “Santa! Santa came! I remember!” Crawling over to the tree, you peer beneath it, bouncing as you see the gifts piled under the branches. “I think he brought something for everybody!” Unable to contain your glee, you turn and throw yourself at him, and he lets out a squawk as he catches you. “Merry Christmas, Sans!” Giggling from the pure joy of the fizzy feeling deep within you, you hug him fiercely, unwilling to let go.

“ **heh. you too, kid.** ” He holds you close for a long time, and he keeps his hands on your shoulders when you finally pull away. “ **so what’s your biggest holiday wish?** ”

It doesn’t take you long at all to ponder your answer. Grinning, you lean forward and whisper the answer into his ear. He blinks at you in surprise, but it makes him laugh, and he hauls himself to his feet, tugging you up with him. “ **okay, okay. just this once. and only ‘cause you’re you.** ”

You let out a squeak, giving a little dance of delight, and dash off to find the mistletoe.

He doesn’t like doing this very much. You know he’s uncomfortable showing his magic to anyone outside the family, and he really doesn’t like doing it to you without a good reason, since it involves moving your soul from inside your body to outside of it, and that makes him nervous. But if you know it’s coming, you can hide the moment of pain when it happens so you don’t upset him, and the prickle of magic as blue fire washes over your soul tickles more than anything. You rise up on your toes with anticipation, the ribboned bundle clutched close to your chest, and Sans shakes his head in tolerant amusement as he raises his hand. Then, you’re rising through the air, Sans’ power surrounding you and keeping you safe as you drift toward the ceiling. 

You will never, ever get tired of this. You’ve dreamed of flying many, many times, but you don’t need to dream with Sans. With him, the dreams are real.

It doesn’t take long to pin your bundle to the doorframe, and Sans lowers you back right into his arms. You give him a big hug of thanks before dashing upstairs to change into your new Christmas sweater, running right back down again as fast as you can. When you get back to the tree, the cushions are back where they belong, and Sans is already lounging on the couch in his own sweater, a Santa hat perched on his head at a jaunty angle. You jump up onto the couch, bouncing as you curl up next to him and wait for the results of your cunning plan.

Papyrus is the first one down, and he gives a startled “NYEH!” when you fling yourself at him, barely managing to catch you in time as he staggers. Smiling so hard it hurts, you point upward at the bunch of leaves and berries hanging over his head. He frowns. “HUMAN! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS FOLIAGE?”

“It means I have to kiss you!” 

He stares at you, and delight blossoms across his face. “OH! THEN I APPROVE!” And he laughs, holding you close as you shower him with kisses.

Toriel is next, and you bask in the warmth of her hug as she turns the tables on you, nuzzling you into a fit of giggles after receiving her own kiss. Before she puts you down, you have to exclaim over the delicate golden flower pendant that hangs on a chain around her neck, gleaming bright against her sweater. She places a hand over her new necklace and blushes at your praise.

Undyne and Alphys are delighted by the tradition, and after you give them their kisses, Toriel eventually has to pointedly clear her throat to get them to stop hogging the mistletoe. 

You had thought you were as happy as you could get, but when Dad shows up with hot cinnamon buns from the bakery and more presents, it gets even better. He has to drop them all in order to catch you, but he assures you they weren’t breakable as he cuddles you close, and you give him another kiss for good measure. 

Napstablook and Mettaton are a surprise, but a nice one, and when your first attempt to kiss Napstablook sends you falling right through him, Mettaton just picks you up and promises to pass on Napstablook’s kiss for you. “You’ll just have to kiss me twice, darling!” he laughs. Which you do, happily, as Napstablook apologizes for the inconvenience.

The smell of breakfast fills the room, and your family slowly trickles into the kitchen to help Mom get everything ready. Finally, it’s just you and Sans left as you kneel beside the tree, carefully arranging all the new presents so that they don’t fall over before you have a chance to open them after breakfast.

“ **come on, kiddo, time to move** .” Sans says, tugging you to your feet. “ **don’t get me wrong, i’m all for being lazy, but you sit around here too long and the good stuff is gonna be gone.** ”

“Wait,” you protest, clinging to his arm to hold him back. “You’re forgetting something.”

“ **what’s that?** ” he asks.

In answer, you wrap your arms around him and plant a kiss on his bony cheek. 

“ **oh,** ” he says, and laughs as he hugs you back. “ **right.** ”

And suddenly, you find that you can’t let go. You hug him tighter, your heart so full that it almost aches. “Thank you,” you say softly, and it feels like it’s not enough. Like there’s so much more to thank him for than staying with you and helping you set up this wonderful prank for your family, but you can’t figure out what it is. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Somehow, Sans understands. You can feel it in the strength of his arms as he holds you, and he lets out a long breath that trembles a little. “I love you, kid.”

You smile, and whisper into his sweater, “I love you, too.”

For a long time, you just cling to each other, content in that moment of just feeling  _ together _ . It isn’t until the smoke detector starts beeping, followed by Undyne’s shout of “THIS FIRE IS NOT A METAPHOR, PAPYRUS,” that you finally let go.

“ **welp,** ”  Sans says, taking your hand. “ **we should probably get in there.** ”

“Yeah,” you answer, swinging your hands between you. “The new fire extinguishers are under the sink, now. I’d better show them where they are.” 

“ **c’mon then. let’s go illuminate the situation** .” 

You groan, but as he leads you toward the kitchen, you can’t seem to stop smiling.The piles of presents glitter unopened beneath the tree, bedecked by shining ribbons, but somehow you feel that the best of the lot is already yours.

  
  



	4. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little holiday interlude that wouldn't leave me alone. Takes place about a year after the last chapter.

New Year’s Eve is one of those human celebrations that the monster community embraced wholeheartedly, and five years after Barrier Fall, they’ve become so enthusiastically immersed in it that you never actually know where you’re going to end up when the clock strikes midnight.

For a while, it looked like this year would be Grillby’s, but the fiery bartender has a fondness for your mother, and the complimentary drinks flowed so fast (and flattered so hard) that Toriel declared an hour ago that everyone was welcome at the Big House.

The House is filled now with shouts and laughter, though you’re not worried for the safety of anything or anyone inside. Though there are a few strange human faces mixed in with the monsters you know, the monsters know better than to do anything to mess up Toriel’s house, even if the House itself would have permitted it, which it probably wouldn’t, and humans are still too nervous to risk making monsters mad. So though spirits are high, everyone is still on their best behaviour. Such as it is. Monster standards differ somewhat from those you grew up with.

Alphys and Mettaton have taken over the living room with an intense team Karaoke Revolution battle, though you had to move a lamp out of the way to stop Mettaton from kicking it over during a particularly emphatic dance number. They’ve put Napstablook in charge of the music, and it’s not a coincidence that Mettaton’s team keeps getting the more challenging songs, but Mettaton takes it as the compliment it was meant to be and keeps rising to the occasion.

Papyrus and Undyne commandeered the kitchen almost immediately, though they keep taking breaks to set up obstacle courses throughout the house, but Grillby edged his way in not long after, and between the three of them, they’re managing to churn out enough food to keep everyone fed. Toriel would be in there too, but she’s had enough wine that she’s getting a little _too_ enthusiastic with the fire magic for everyone’s comfort, so Asgore and Ambassador Deb lured her into a spirited debate about alternative educational systems that’s keeping her happily occupied and relatively fire-free.

Artie and a bunch of the kids from school set up camp in one of the parlours, and between the human and monster children, they’ve managed to construct a gaming system that takes up most of a wall and sounds loud enough to rattle your teeth. You spent a good long time in there, enough that you began to worry about the ringing in your ears, but it’s much quieter outside of the room, which you attribute partly to Artie’s engineering skills, and partly to the fact the House helpfully seems to have soundproofed the room. One of the human kids has Artie’s arms on, struggling to defeat Artie with an extra pair of hands on the controller, but Artie has their own controls firmly between their feet and is wiping the floor with their hapless opponent, to the cheers of the kids gathered around them.

Bemused humans circulate through it all, but everywhere they go, they find welcome, and there’s no one you can find who needs you to make connections or ease them into participating. Wrapping yourself contentedly in your oldest, fuzziest sweater, you wind your way to the tables Grillby has set up across the kitchen doorway. You raise an eyebrow at the scene beyond -- Papyrus and Undyne grapple on the floor as a pot behind them shoots flames toward the ceiling -- but neither Grillby nor the House seem particularly disturbed, and both of them can be trusted know from fire, so you figure it’s just part of the usual background enthusiasm, and nothing to do with your mother or any other emergency requiring the stash of fire extinguishers.

“Need me to step in?” you ask, gesturing at the squabbling friends rolling around behind Grillby.

His flames flicker blue with amusement, and he shakes his head as you smile in understanding. He’s dealt with unruly customers long enough that Undyne and Papyrus are nothing, and they _are_ managing to produce an astonishing amount of food in between wrestling matches. Instead, Grillby reaches beneath his makeshift counter and pulls out a small package wrapped in the leaves of an echo flower, handing it to you with a conspiratorial wink.

Your brow furrows a little as you carefully unfurl the leaves, for this is nothing he’s ever given you before. An instant later, a leaf shifts aside to reveal the sticky white grains beneath, and memory slams into you with the force of a speeding truck.

_Happy New Year, Katie! she says, pressing the treat into your hands, and it’s not exactly what you’re supposed to have on New Year’s, you know, but it’s the one traditional thing she thinks she’s really good at and she hates having to buy the mochi she can’t make, and as you sink your teeth into the onigiri, your mother’s smile is the best gift of all--_

You gasp as the memory releases you, and you find yourself blinking up into the concerned embers behind Grillby’s glasses, his hand a heat on your shoulder that stops just short of painful. Quickly, you find your smile again, and hug the leaf-wrapped rice to your chest. “Thank you,” you tell him. “It’s wonderful.”

He lets go of you with some reluctance, and you turn up the wattage on your smile. His daughter is in your class at the school, and you’ve spent more than a few nights at his house for dinner. Enough that his obvious worry is not that of a proprietor for his patron, but of a parent who knows a child well enough to know when something’s wrong.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Really.” You lower the leaf-wrapped package in your hands. “This brought back some memories, is all. But I’m happy for them, too.”

“...you’re sure?”

His voice hisses like fire burning over coals, nearly lost beneath the boisterous cheer of the rest of the house. But rare as it is, you never fail to listen when he chooses to speak to you, and you have no trouble understanding his anxious question.

“I’m sure.” Carefully tucking the onigiri into one of the big pockets on your sweater for later, you gesture at the steaming mugs set out on one side of the table. “Can I take one of these?”

Whether it’s a product of his profession or his normal taciturn nature, or maybe a combination of the two, Grillby is pretty observant. He knows you well enough by now to know that you’re not asking for yourself, and you know that he’s as aware as you are that there’s one familiar face that’s been missing for the last few hours. He plucks one of the mugs from the table, sticking a fingertip into it to put the heat back into it, and carefully hands it to you so that you can blow out the flame that dances on the surface of the alcohol. The mulled wine in the cup is redolent with sweetness and spice that wraps you like a hug, and for a moment, you wish you were old enough to have a mug of your own. Instead, you thank Grillby with another warm grin, and head toward the greenhouse.

There are humans and monsters here too, respectfully enjoying the gardens, and you weave your way along one of the well-worn paths. Surprised bursts of laughter erupt from the branches around you as the monsters introduce the humans to some of the more animated foliage from the Underground, and they’re preoccupied enough that no one notices as you slip out the greenhouse door into the snow.

New Year’s requires some sort of festive headgear, and your mother would scold you for going out in the snow without a hat, but you’ve got both covered. You set down the steaming mug just long enough to pull out your phone and retrieve one particular hat from one of your dimensional boxes. You’ve added some sparkling ribbon, just for tonight, but despite the new addition, the old cowboy hat settles onto your head with comforting familiarity. Drawing the string tight under your chin to be sure it won’t blow away, you grab the mug again and carefully pick your way over the snow-covered flagstone path to the gardens.

Even in winter, the gardens have their own quiet beauty. Frost dusts the trunks of the trees until they glitter in the moonlight, and the snow covering the ground softens the shrubs and trees into inviting mounds that bear the impressions of snow angels, toboggan tracks, and more than one snowman. You don’t think there’s a single season in which the gardens lack the laughter of the neighbourhood children, though they’re all at home with their families now, if they’re not up at the House. Returning a snowman’s wave as you pass, you head down a winding track between stone walls to one of the places that few people outside of your own family ever seem to find. Though the gardens welcome all, there are still places where those who call the House home can find refuge when they want to be alone.

Your father is responsible for most of the gardens, though there are one or two places that just sort of asserted themselves. The grotto is one of them, a natural hideaway of arcing stone, with a roof of glittering quartz across the end of it that throws the light of the snow back down until the sheltered space within the sort-of cave is almost as bright as the moonscape outside.

The clock that dominates the grotto, however, was your father’s doing. It’s an ancient thing, pulled piece-by-piece from the Underground, and its great ticking fills the grotto like a heartbeat. In summer, the two pillars on either side are twined with vines and bobbing flowers, but now there is nothing to block the view, either of the massive clock face, or of the brass plates below that display the date. Every day, every month, every year, they tick over without fail, marking the passage of time since the Barrier fell.

The little figure huddled on the iron bench across from the clock is almost invisible, the dusting of snow on his jacket and hood merging him with the snow-covered vines on the walls behind him. But as your footsteps crunch in the snow, he raises his head, and the grin from the depths of the hood holds welcome as you make your way toward him.

“ **hey, shortpants,** ” Sans says as you brush the snow off the bench, and you shiver as you sit beside him, the chill of the metal seeping through your jeans. “ **what brings you out here?** ”

He smells a little of ketchup, but not too much, and you scoot closer as you pass him the mug. Without its warmth, the chill quickly sinks into your hands, and you jam them into the pockets of your cardigan. “Looking for you.”

“ **well, you found me.** ” He takes a sip of the mulled wine and gives a quiet sigh of appreciation. “ **not much to see here, though. you should probably head back.** ”

“Nah. I’m good for a bit.” Drawing a hand out of the safety of its pocket just long enough to shove the hat further back on your head so you can look up at the sky, you watch the moon playing hide-and-seek with the gaps in the snow clouds. The movement draws his attention to the cowboy hat, and there’s respect and recognition in his startled blink, but he doesn’t comment on it.

He does lift his hand, though, and though the snow continues to fall, there’s a bubble of space surrounding the grotto and the bench where the flakes no longer drift. You let out a quiet squeak, turning on the bench and reaching out past the place where the snow stops, laughing as the flakes touch your fingertips before you draw your hand back into the invisible bubble. “It’s like a snowglobe, but backwards!” you exclaim.

Sans’ smile brightens at your obvious glee. Deep inside you, part of you wonders how often Sans had the chance to use his magic to make people happy before the Barrier fell, and a part deeper still recoils from the shared echo of an otherwhen where his magic was used to hurt, and both parts seethe at the injustice of it. But outwardly, you just laugh harder, and blow on your hands to warm them before plopping yourself back down next to him.

“ **it’s snow big deal,** ” he says with a wink, but you can tell that he’s pleased with himself.

“Icy you’re just being modest,” you say, nudging him in the side, and you’re just as pleased with yourself as he is when it surprises a laugh out of him.

“ **ice one, kid,**  ” he says. “ **if a little bit flaky.** ”

“Now you’re giving me the cold shoulder,” you say.

He laughs again, but quietly adds, “ **never,** ” and you grin as you pull your onigiri from your pocket and take a satisfied bite.

The memory doesn’t take you quite as fiercely this time, and you’re only gone from yourself for a few seconds, but Sans rarely misses much, and when the memory lets you go, he’s got the same kind of concern in the shadows of his eyes that Grillby had in the embers of his. He doesn’t say anything though. By now, he knows what’s likely to set you off, and knows that you’ll ask him for help if you need it. When you take another bite of the onigiri -- it really is wonderful -- he just pats your shoulder and takes another sip of the mulled wine.

The silence that stretches between you is a comfortable one. You’re often content just to enjoy each other’s company, and the steady ticking of the clock fills most of the space anyway. Slowly, the minutes slip away, each circuit of the great brass gears inching the year plate closer to changing.

“ **seriously, buddy,** ” Sans says, breaking the silence at last. “ **you should get back to the house.** ”

“Why?” you ask.

He gestures toward the clock. “ **it’s almost midnight. on a night like this, a kid like you oughtta be ringing in the year with your friends and family.** ”

“I am,” you say, and cram the rest of the onigiri into your mouth, smiling despite your stuffed cheeks.

Sans shakes his head with a dry snort. “ **you are a very tough kid to say no to, you know that?** ” He shifts, brushing the snow off his shoulders and hood until his fluffy jacket is clear of it. “ **all right, all right. c’mere, pal.** ”

He holds out his arm, and you push your hat a little further back so that you can snuggle against his side, resting your head against his shoulder as he puts his arm around you. Almost immediately, the chill fades from your bones, and you give a quiet, contented sigh.

The clock ticks through another minute, and a small furrow forms between your brows as you watch the swing of the pendulum. The others might not understand, but you know why he leaves the party before midnight every year. It took years to figure out where he was going, but once you did, you understood. He can’t explain, not even to Papyrus. But he doesn’t have to explain it to you.

“Sans?” you say quietly, once your mouth is clear of rice.

“ **yeah?** ”

“I meant what I promised. I’m not gonna go back.”

His breath catches for a moment at that, and he lets it out slowly. “ **you really don’t miss much,** ” he says, and sets the mug of mulled wine aside. “ **y’know, i’ve been thinking about that promise a lot. and i got to thinking… maybe it’s not so cut and dried, y’know?** ”

You look up at him, your eyes wide as you shake your head. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes for a moment.

“ **kid, don’t get me wrong, i think you’re really *cool*--** ” despite the gravity of his words, he still can’t help punning, and you can’t help the giggle it wins from you. He draws you just a little closer, and his warmth sinks deeper into you. “ **but i wasn’t quite anticipating the kind of kid who flings themselves off bridges or runs into floods at the drop of a hat--** ”

“Helping people is my job!” you protest. He silences you with a light touch on your lips. His finger bones ought to be like icicles in this weather, but they’re not. Everything about him is contrary, sometimes.

“ **hear me out, frisk. i don’t expect you to stop, and i certainly don’t want you to take back your promise. but those little jumps you used to make, when you--** ” He breaks off, unable to finish the thought.

“When I died,” you offer helpfully.

His expression twists, and he brushes a curl from your face, tucking it beneath the brim of your hat. “ **...yeah. that. frisk, if things ever get real bad, i don’t… i don’t ever want you to be afraid to make one of those jumps because of me.** ” He rests his hand against your cheek, his shadowed eyes searching yours. “ **you do what you gotta do to keep yourself safe, buddy. understand?** ”

You take your time in answering, weighing his words carefully. “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” you tell him. It’s difficult to explain a phenomenon you don’t fully understand yourself, or how it’s become harder to reach for those ripples in reality in the years since you left the Underground. Now, if you were to go back to the last point you felt determined enough to return to, you’d have to do months, if not years over again. You’re not really sure if that counts as a little jump any more. It feels a lot more like a reset. Still…maybe you can try to be determined more often, so that you can still make the little jumps if you have to. “But if it’ll make you happy… I’ll try.”

He closes his eyes briefly, lowering his hand so that you can nestle back against his shoulder. “ **it makes me happy, kiddo,** ” he says softly.

The arms of the clock shift, coming together at the top of the great face, and you can hear the whirring beginning to build from deep within the belly of the clock. You’re not even sure he realizes that he’s doing it, but Sans’s fingers wrap around yours, and he clings to you as the brass plates begin to move. First the day. Then the month. Then…

For a moment, nothing happens. The plate that marks the last digit of the year hangs there, motionless, and a breathless, broken sound tears its way free of Sans as his hand tightens on yours.

Then, the plate falls, the year ticking over, and the chimes of the great clock reverberate through the walls of the grotto, dislodging a flurry of snow that swirls around you as the skies over the city erupt with colour and light.

“Happy New Year, Sans,” you say, your eyes wide as you watch the spectacle playing out against the backdrop of snow.

“ **yeah,** ” he says quietly. “ **i think it is.** ”

You tear your gaze away from the fireworks to look at him, a question in your eyes, but he just winks and presses the warm mug into your hands. “ **here. one sip won’t hurt you. just don’t tell your mom.** ”

With conspiratorial glee, you nod and take a sip. The wine is sweeter than you expected, and the richness of spices and oranges burst across your tongue. It burns as you swallow, but pleasantly so, and it leaves a trail of warmth that spreads through you to the tips of your fingers and toes.

“Ohhhh,” you breathe, and raise the mug again, but Sans just snorts, and suddenly your hands are empty.

“ **nice try, kiddo. i may not be the most responsible one at the party, but i’m still your grown-up.** ”

“Awww,” you protest.

He draws a breath to respond, but anything he begins to say is lost in the roar that erupts from the Big House. The two of you turn your heads to stare, and your mouth falls open at the sight of the iridescent rainbow flames shooting from every chimney with a ferocity that puts the fireworks above to shame.

“Wow,” you say.

“... **just how much wine has tori had tonight?** ” Sans asks.

“Enough,” you answer. Sliding off the bench, you bounce a few steps through the snow before turning back. “Come on. Mom’s gonna keep trying to help until somebody distracts her.” You hold out your hand, and wait.

You could almost swear the clock has stopped again. You’re certainly not breathing as you watch Sans stare at your hand. Without warning, the bubble around you collapses, and snow swirls though your hair as the flakes begin to fall again. But it doesn’t matter, because Sans’ hand is in yours, and your laughter chases the chill from the garden as you tow him back to the light and warmth of home.


End file.
